


The Law of Parsimony

by notoverit



Category: House M.D.
Genre: First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, the inverse of fake relationship fic, they are both sooo stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24161746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoverit/pseuds/notoverit
Summary: House asks Wilson on a date. Wilson tries to figure out what "will you go out on a date with me?" means in House-speak. Spoiler alert: it means he wants you to go out on a date with him.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 146





	The Law of Parsimony

“Hey,” House says, walking into Wilson’s office without so much as a knock.

  
“What is it?” Wilson grunts back, without looking up from the charts he’s reviewing. 

  
House ignores the question and plops down on his couch. “Hey,” he says again, and his voice has an urgent little edge to it that grabs Wilson’s full attention. He drops his pen and looks at House.

  
“What is it?” Wilson says in an entirely different voice.

  
“Nothing,” House says, massaging his thigh a bit and looking everywhere but at Wilson. “I just...”

  
“ _Nothing” my ass_ , Wilson wants to say. 

  
The silence stretches for too long. House keeps massaging his leg. The silence stretches for so long that Wilson is about to get up and go over to sit with House when he speaks again. 

  
“Will you go out with me?” House says, still not looking at him and rubbing his leg furiously. 

  
“Out where?” Wilson asks.

  
“Out, like, on a date,” House explains. 

  
Wilson huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s just House being faux-serious in service of a prank. “On a date?” Wilson says, tapping his pen thoughtfully a few times. “Yeah, sure. Let’s split a milkshake the local diner and then get to second base in the back of your dad’s car.” 

  
“I’m serious,” House says. Wilson considers this. His heart does a backflip. House is tucking his chin and wearing that neutral expression he has when he’s being honest. Unfortunately, it’s also the expression he wears when he’s tricking people into thinking he’s being honest.

  
“Me too. Let’s go steady. I’ll let you wear my letterman around school,” Wilson deadpans.

  
“Wilson!” House whines. 

  
Wilson slaps his paperwork against the desk in response.

  
“You—you—you—“ Wilson stutters, a finger pointing at House. “You—What are you up to?”

  
“Forget it,” House snaps, getting to his feet, “it was a question. You could’ve just said ‘no.’ You don’t need to do a whole bit about it.” 

  
“I didn’t say no. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m saying yes to,” Wilson says.

  
“You didn’t say yes,” House points out but his expression has gone from angry to curious.

  
Wilson rolls his eyes and goes back to his paperwork now that there’s no looming House crisis. “Do I ever say no to you? I’d just like to know what I’m signing up for, for once, instead of finding out at the end of dinner that I’ve been some chess piece in your latest elaborate game of avoiding your parents or...you know, world domination. So what is it: Trying to throw off a lovelorn patient? Proving some sort of point to Cuddy? Something to do with the kids?”

  
House is quiet for a beat. “What if I’m asking for real? Does that change your answer?” 

  
Wilson abandons his paperwork once more and points an accusatory pen at House. “Aha! You won’t tell me what your ulterior motive is. So, that means...it’s not about tricking someone else. It’s something to do with me. I’m signing up for a—a—I don’t know, some sort of a Housian lesson about repression, or commitment, or...something.” 

  
House doesn’t appear to be listening to his little monologue at all. “Is that a ‘yes’? It doesn’t have to be.” 

  
That House is equivocating at all instead of demanding he get what he wants is so unusual that Wilson almost believes his little performance. But he knows House better than that. When House wants something (or someone) he is jealous, vocal, and pushy. Wilson knows that this isn’t what it looks like to have House romantically interested in you. But there’s only one way he’s finding out what House is really up to so—

  
“I already said it’s a yes,” Wilson says, with a put-upon air that House will recognize as being just for show. “So where are we going?”

  
House has a few false starts answering that, as though he thought Wilson was going to fight him a few more rounds rather than jump to specifics.

_Aha! I bet he didn’t even think it through_ , Wilson notes to himself.

“I have reservations at that new French place on Pennsylvania. And then tickets to a showing of Casablanca. It’s one of those ones where the orchestra plays the soundtrack live. A nice, girly date, just the way you like it,” he says with a toothy grin. 

“That new French place,” Wilson says skeptically, “The...le...la...Chapeau Rouge? No way you have reservations there. They are booked a month out. I told you about that just two days ago, but of course you never listen to me when—“

“I saved a guy who knows a guy who knows the woman who owns the place,” House shrugs, seemingly developing a sudden fascination with the carpet. 

For a beat, neither of them speak. Wilson blinks back at him, assessing.

“What the hell are you up to, you maniac?” Wilson wonders good-naturedly. 

“Something undoubtedly sinister. But you won’t find out until you put out,” House volleys back with a grin.

“Dear me. You know I don’t put out on the first date, Dr. House,” he says, fully in the swing of it now. 

“Oh well, I suppose I’ll have to keep asking you out until you do,” House says, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Wilson laughs. And loves House so much it might kill him. And he laughs again.

“Easy there. Let’s see if you manage to make it through live orchestral Casablanca without murdering me and then yourself,” Wilson says gravely and goes back to his paperwork once more.

“Ok. It’s a date,” House says brightly. Wilson sees him head to the door and then linger there for a moment. 

  
“Wilson?”

  
“Hmmm?”

“Is it a ‘yes’ no matter what?”

There’s an unsaid: _Even if I’m asking for real?_

A hot stone settles in Wilson’s stomach. There’s no good answer. If he says no, then House will withdraw the offer. He’s sure of it. If he says yes, he’ll be playing straight into House’s game. He’s sure that whatever House has planned, it involves getting Wilson to agree to a real date, removing any plausible deniability Wilson might have that he’s just playing along as a joke—so whatever House had planned had to be embarrassing indeed.   
Before Wilson can come up with a better answer, he blurts out: 

“You know I always say ‘yes’ when it’s you.”

He tries to diminish the immense weight of what he’s just said with a shrug and an eye-roll. Like there’s any way to recover from that. He’s basically just said “I’ll take whatever you give me.” But House looks at him like he can’t quite figure out what game Wilson is playing at (good, thank goodness). And then he nods as if he’s just decided something without Wilson and leaves.

Wilson pretends to do paperwork for a few more minutes. He flips through five pages in case House barges back in to say “Aha! I knew it! I knew you were in love with me.” And then, when he feels the coast is clear, he puts his head down on the desk and stays like that for a long long time.

***

The reactions are quite mixed when House tells his team. 

Foreman says: “Thanks for the update boss. Can we get back to our patient, who—in case you forgot—can’t walk?” 

Thirteen looks at him for a really long time and says: “Good for you.” 

Taub sighs as if House has launched a personal attack against him and goes: “Oh good. This will be fun for all of us.”

Chase just laughs and shakes his head as though he can’t believe House is trying to sell them such an obvious lie.

“The problem is,” House declares a few minutes later, abandoning the word “PARALYSIS” on the whiteboard right after PARA, “I think Wilson doubts my sincerity. I don’t know where he’s getting the idea that it might be some sort of a prank! Me?? Pranking him?! Little ol’ me?! Why I'd never," House says in his best Scarlett O'Hara impression, throwing himself down on a chair.

“Yeah, it’s a mystery,” Taub mutters.

Foreman takes the marker dangling from House’s hand and goes to the whiteboard to write the LYSIS in PARALYSIS. “Ok we’ve ruled out drugs. What else could cause—“

“How do I convince him that underneath all the ‘limping asshole,’ I’m a limping asshole with a heart of gold? A heart that beats only for his ugly ties and blow-dried hair?” House moans dramatically.

“How did you ask him out? Did you ask like it was a joke?” Thirteen asks.

“You’re enabling him?” Foreman asks as if to say “Et tu Brutus?”

“It’ll go faster this way,” Thirteen assures them. 

“I bet he filled Wilson’s office with balloons and ambushed him with mariachi band,” Chase chimes in.

“Nuh-uh. That’s soooo high school. I’m all grown up now. I went into his office and I said ‘Will you go out with me?’ And he said ‘ _What the hell are you up to you ne’r do well fiend_?’—I’m paraphrasing here—and I said ‘I’m perfectly serious, will you go on a date with me?’ And he said ‘Yes.’” 

“Could be neurological,” Taub says. 

“Hey, that’s my maybe-future-boyfriend you’re talking about!” House says, and then an exaggerated look of understanding dawns on him. “Ooooh, you meant the patient. It’s not neurological.”

“They already ruled out neurological at Mercy,” Thirteen says, “And did you tell him you like him?”

“We should re-do the tests,” Foreman says.

“Tell him I ‘like him’? Again I ask you: Are we in high school? Who does that? Don’t people ask each other out as a substitute for saying icky things like ‘I like you’?” 

Foreman rolls his eyes. “Yeah but other people would also never ask out their best friend as a cruel joke. This is the byproduct of your particular brand of charm. Since you’re a regular Steve Martin the rest of the time, when you are being sincere—that is if this isn’t just you trying to screw with us in some elaborate way—it’s gonna take some extra effort to prove it.” 

Everyone shares amused looks at Foreman's expense. Foreman catches them doing it.  “It’ll go faster this way,” he says in a terrible impression of Thirteen. 

“Oh Eric, I knew your cold heart would thaw in the face of true love,” House says, still acting like he’s in a soap opera the rest of them don’t know the lines to. “How shall I make him understand that I see the stars in his laughter and hear music in his eyes—oh wait, hmm. There’s music somewhere and stars somewhere else, but I think I got the order wrong.”

“Uh, well. Not to ruin your fun. But...before you make him understand all of that, don’t you want to make he’s interested in you as more than friends?” Taub chimes in absent-mindedly as he flips through the patient file.

All eyes in the room pivot to him, as though none of them can believe he was bold enough to go there. Thirteen’s mouth is hanging open a tiny bit.

“Late to the game but coming in with a solid left hook,” House says, looking a little impressed. “He said he’d let me wear his letterman around school. Do you think that means he, like, _like_ likes me?” 

Foreman sighs and gets up. “Ok we need to redo the CT scans, the MRI, and we potentially need to redo the tox screens. House, unless you start expressing any medical opinions in the next five minutes I’m going to start with the CT scans.”

“Let’s vote,” House says.

Foreman rolls his eye. “Ok. I vote CT scans—“

“Oh. Oh my gosh!! You thought I meant the patient. You thought I was gonna run this differential like a cute little democracy? Oh my god that’s sooo embarrassing for you,” House says, pulling a mortified face. “No, I’ve already decided it’s her kidneys. I meant let’s go around the room and vote on whether Wilson likes me or not.” 

“She can’t walk and you want us to look at her kidneys?” Foreman snaps. “You want us to ignore our dying patient to sort out your personal life? This is low even for you!”

“You won’t give me five minutes? After all I’ve done for you,” House says, clutching his heart and generally continuing to inhabit his exaggerated soap opera character. “What about all the times I ignored our dying patients to sort out _your_ personal lives?”

He raises his cane to point at them one by one. “How about when I made you get tested for Huntington’s? And you...remember when I made you enroll her in that drug trial for her Huntington’s? And, uh, Taub...who made you tell your wife you cheated?” House points his cane at Chase and fumbles for a good example. Admittedly, all he can think of is the time he fired Chase and the other time he didn't tell him his dad was dying. “Uh, and you! Remember how I refused to fall in love with Cameron until she got over me and married you? You’re welcome.” 

When House takes in the room, it occurs to him that he may have slightly miscalculated. The four of them have crossed their arms and are gracing him with identical glares like they’ve just remembered how royally he's screwed up their lives.

Chase is gracing him with particularly deathly glare. 

“Ok, so you got divorced," he concedes. “But you had a couple of good years in there. Ok, those are...not good examples. I’ve done nice things too...like..uh...”

“Yes,” Foreman says.

Everyone turns to look at him.

“Yes, I think Wilson likes you. I’m still not sure what _you’re_ up to. But he likes you. God rest his soul,” Foreman says. 

“See? Now we’re getting somewhere,” House says with an evil smile. “House 1, heterosexuality 0. Chase? What say you?”

Chase looks at him for a really long time before answering.

“Sorry. I really am sorry,” Chase says. “I don’t think so.”

“Why would you be sorry? We’re all grown ups here. I asked you for your opinion,” House says darkly, “I’m sure I won’t find cruel elaborate ways to punish you for giving me your honest opinion just because I don’t like it. Doesn’t sound like me at all.”

Chase looks very worried. “Can I change my—“ 

“Nope. No take backs. Taub, your turn.”

“I’d really rather—“

“Oh, but you should know by now this is not about what you’d rather,” House tells him sweetly, menacingly. He grabs the marker back from Foreman and flips the board over to write HOUSE: 1 HETEROSEXUALITY: 1.

Taub sighs and stares at his hands for a long time. “He does seem to date a lot of women.”

“I didn’t ask if—“

“No, sorry. I don’t think so.”

House clutches at his heart like Taub shot him in the heart. “Ouch. Ok. House 1, heterosexuality 2,” he scribbles the new score on the whiteboard and then he points to Thirteen. 

“Come on. Daddy needs a win here. That’s why I saved the gayest for last,” House coos at her, batting his eyelashes. 

She takes him in with an unreadable poker face. They’re all palpably tense waiting for her vote. She gives them a few false starts, really draws it out. And then she laughs. “Are you guys kidding? House, the poor guy is in love with you.”

“Oh I do love my lucky number Thirteen,” House whispers as he evens out the score on the board to 2-2.  “Ugh, will you look at that,” he says, pointing at the tied score as if he's just noticed the tie. “See what you did, Chase?”

“Me? I offered to change my—“

“If you hadn’t killed that dictator, your better half would still be here to break our tie. Now how will I ever know if Wilson likes me or not?” House whines.

“Wilson,” Taub says.

“Yeah, genius. I’ll eventually find out from Wilson. I meant how do I know before—“

“No. He’s coming. Code red. Wilson is approaching.”

When they all turn to look, Wilson is exactly five steps away from the glass door of the conference room. House nearly trips over himself to sit down and assume a casual pose. 

Meanwhile, Thirteen and Chase both lunge for the whiteboard as though to physically shield it from Wilson but all they manage to do before he walks in is collide ungracefully. 

“Quick. Act like we're having a fun conversation,” he jokes to Foreman in a stage whisper. 

***

The scene in House’s office is not even among the top five strangest Wilson has witnessed, but something is clearly afoot there. Taub is staring at him like a deer in headlights, Thirteen is frozen in the middle of a lunge off her chair and half pinned to the table by Chase, who has also attempted a lunge in that same direction but gotten his leg caught between their chairs. Meanwhile, House is pretending to be in a conversation with Foreman, who is not humoring him at all and is instead making a big show of reading the patient file. House laughs theatrically and gives Foreman’s arm a playful swat. "Oh, you're hilarious," House says to a stone-faced Foreman.

“I can come back when you’re not in the middle of rehearsing commedia dell’arte,” Wilson says. 

House whips around to beam him with a genuine amusement tugging at his lips. “See? Why can’t the rest of you be more like Wilson? You have no comedic timing. We're doomed to treat patients forever."

Wilson looks at Thirteen and Chase sheepishly untangling themselves. He's about to ask them what they’re doing but then shakes his head and dismisses the thought with the wave of his hand. He turns to say something to House but then he notices the board. He looks at it, and then back at House, and then back at it. 

“I was gonna ask if you wanted lunch, but I see you’re busy curing heterosexuality, Professor Kinsey,” Wilson remarks.

"Heterosexuality can wait, stealing food from you only works if I'm there to do it before you eat all of it," House says, hopping to his feet. "Let's go. People who aren't buying me lunch--get me a piece of the patient's kidneys."

"Wait. I wanna know," Wilson says, pointing at the board. 

House is visibly gearing up for another joke, but Thirteen beats him to it. "We all had to vote on whether House can beat heterosexuality. Care to break our tie?" she jokes, uncapping the marker and standing in front of the board expectantly. 

"Beat...heterosexuality? What, like, in a cage match?" Wilson jokes. He's used to going along with House and the team's craziness, but they're making less sense than usual. He's sure it has to do with their patient of the week and how House has deduced she's gay because she's dying, or maybe she's dying unless House can prove she's gay? Wilson isn't sure, but that sounds like a House case.

"Yeah, let's say in a cage match," Chase chimes in. 

"Oh, House wins hands down," Wilson says, playing along with the joke like he always does. "Take it from me. I've been married a bunch. Heterosexuality is very rule-oriented. It's very 'Don't use the wedding china' and 'We have to go to a barbecue at 11 am on a weekend.' House is a chaos machine. He'd pull a dirty trick and it'd be game over for heterosexuality. And no--" he says, turning to House with a hand held up in warning, "--do not make a pun out of dirty tricks."

They're all looking him like he's just said something significant. House is staring at him with a pleased smile and mischievous look. Wait a minute--

"Wait a minute," Wilson says, "Is our--our date--part of 'House's lesson of the week about humanity'? Is this week's categorical assertion 'nobody's straight'?" Wilson says, gesticulating a bit more than he'd like. It takes him a beat to realize he's just told House's team something deeply personal about him. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..." he says quietly and trails off, waving a hand to indicate _tell everyone_.

"They know," House says. 

"Aha! You told them, which means it _is_ about a case or proving a point."

"What? No! I just think it's so important these youngsters have positive gay role models in their lives," House says, hugging Chase to his chest in a motherly fashion and ruffling his hair. 

"You--you--"

"Relax. We started this game _after_ I asked you out," House says. "The date's real. The story behind the board is boring. Now let's go before I _starve_ to death."

"Oh, ok good. Cause I bought my pink prom dress and I was beginning to worry about the pig's blood dry cleaning bill," Wilson says as he follows House out the door. 

Through the glass door he sees the fellows share worried looks as Thirteen goes to the board, and changes the score to: 

HOUSE: 3

HETEROSEXUALITY: 2 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Because House has started showing up again like a scheduled plague, and because I can't be bothered to edit the drafts of two 3-4 year old WIPs.


End file.
